


remember me

by timefighter



Series: TILL DEATH — dream smp [1]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Dysfunctional Family, Found Family, Gen, Wilbur Soot and Technoblade and TommyInnit are Siblings, Wilbur is dead, no beta we die like men, wilbur is everyone's favorite depressive episode, wilbur is going through his depression arc (pt. 2), wilbur misses being alive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-12 18:53:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29015406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timefighter/pseuds/timefighter
Summary: wilbur soot is dead, and he knows he deserves it, but he just misses being alive.
Series: TILL DEATH — dream smp [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2128614
Kudos: 44





	remember me

**Author's Note:**

> lol dis thing on?? anyways... wilbur angst... haha  
> titled inspired by remember me by umi

wilbur knew ghostbur was keeping them company. he knew. but it doesn’t stop the aching pain that spreads through his body, starting in the ever—bleeding, gaping hole in his chest that his father left after he pulled his sword out of his son’s body that fateful day. god, there were so many things he wanted to tell tommy. wanted to tell technoblade, and phil, and fundy, and tubbo, and niki. he wanted to apologize for all of it. he didn’t regret pressing the button, no, but he regretted the looks he saw on his friends and family’s faces when he stood on that precipice, phil’s eyes darting between the torn land and his son. wilbur wanted to apologize for the pain he’d caused, the distrust he’d brought to tommy’s eyes, the fear in niki’s when he’d broken down in front of all of them. 

wilbur’s life had been eventful, to say the least. he changed, tommy had told him one night in pogtopia, the walls looming above them and lanterns clinking together in the slight breeze. wilbur hadn’t wanted to believe it, but he knew. he knew he was paranoid. he knew he was spiraling. he knew l’manberg wasn’t home anymore, not after schlatt had gone and upturned all wilbur had fought and died to make.

wilbur had heard tommy’s anguished cry when the bombs went off. had heard the small, broken “wilbur?” that came out of his mouth when his brother stood there, looking out over destroyed homes and ruined land. wilbur had been afraid of death, and he still was. he’d been to that room so many fucking times, wanting, needing to press that goddamn button, but his own mind held him back every time. he knew he deserved it. he knew he deserved the pain of his final death, which would inevitably hurt more than his other ones had. 

and now? wilbur’s afraid. he’s scared for tommy and tubbo, scared for phil, even if he was a shitty dad sometimes. he’d put his little brother through so much pain. so many awful memories tommy must have from just wilbur’s face, haunting him in sleep and in waking, following a step behind him with a curved smirk and downturned face and eyes that read murder. tommy and tubbo are on their last lives now, and wilbur’s afraid. he knows tommy still doesn’t have the discs, but he wonders if his brother would die for them.

wonders if his brother would’ve died for him.

wilbur wants to go back sometimes, and as much as he won’t admit it, he does. he misses niki, her gentle exterior and iron—willed mind and determination. he misses her smile, the one she’d give him when he made his fourteenth dumb joke of the night. he misses how she laughed, how she was always there, always lingering, always offering a helping hand or a shoulder to cry on. he wonders if she misses him the same way.

wilbur misses tommy, even if he’d hate to say it. he misses how his younger brother yelled at him, how he’d sing along when wilbur played guitar. he misses tommy’s fighting spirit, his fierce disposition, the way he’d see red if someone so much as looked at wilbur wrong. (he knows he doesn’t deserve to miss it.) he misses tommy’s energy, misses how he always managed to light up a room. he misses how tommy was always warm in frigid nights in pogtopia, misses how tommy would always hold him a little longer than necessary when he knew wilbur was threadbare, one tear away from falling apart.

wilbur misses technoblade and phil, even if he denies it daily. he misses sparring sessions with techno, misses learning to cook with phil. he misses how technoblade always managed to say the wrong thing, leaving conversations awkward, and how phil always managed to swoop in and save his eldest son and the day. he misses phil’s wings, how they encircled him when the voices got too loud. he misses technoblade’s nuances, how he saved little bits and pieces of their lives and how he never moved wilbur’s things. 

wilbur misses his son, and that’s the one thing he will preach for the rest of his existence. he misses watching fundy grow up, misses the way his ear would twitch when he came into a room. he hates the gaping chasm that grew between them before he died, and wishes he could have a second chance simply to make amends with his son. he misses seeing sally in fundy’s eyes, the way he laughed, and the way he cried. sally lived vicariously through his son, and even when she left, she was there in spirit.

wilbur misses being alive, but he knows he doesn’t deserve it.

wilbur wonders if they’ll remember him for the good or the bad. or maybe both, because he was always an open book and spoke his mind. wilbur wonders if phil will keep his sweaters and beanies, wonders if tommy will keep his coat and guitar, wonders if technoblade will keep his weapons and armour. he wonders if niki will keep his smile and that glint in his eye whenever he got a particularly risky idea tucked away in the back of her mind. he wonders if tubbo will keep his ideologies and laws in place. he wonders if fundy will think of him at all.

he wonders if they’ll remember him as wilbur soot, the man who had it all, or wilbur soot, the one who threw it all away.

wilbur can still see the fire phil had made in their backyard on tommy’s sixteenth birthday. he can still taste the cake niki had made, sixteen candles adorning its red and white frosting. he can still hear tubbo’s laugh as quackity chased him around the clearing, plucking him from the ground to pull him into the clouds, riding the winds with his beautiful golden—brown wings. he can still smell the rain and dew that had dried on his son’s fur, the peat under their shoes as he showed fundy how to waltz. he can still feel techno’s hair in his hands as he braided the pink strands in the light of the fire. he can still remember the beaming smile tommy wore as wilbur gifted him the moth in the jar, the one he called clementine.

wilbur doesn’t age in the afterlife, but it feels like he’s put on ten years since he died. he feels like he’s being left behind, and he deserves it. he wants them to be happy, he does, but he wants to be happy with them. he doesn’t know how to feel as he watches his friends and family move on, though still thinking of his lingering spirit. he knows ghostbur is a placeholder, knows he’ll fade with time as well. he knows phil will stare out the window and see the ghost of his two oldest sons sparring in the son. he knows tommy will see the entrance of pogtopia and remember all the shit he got himself into and had wilbur get him out of. he knows niki will bake an extra pastry, just by muscle memory, and forget for a moment that he isn’t there to take it with a smile. he knows technoblade will polish wilbur’s sword and armour and pause, as if he glimpsed the face of his brother in the mirrored metal. he knows fundy will run a hand over the l’manbergian flag and see flashes of wilbur’s horrified eyes as he burned it.

he knows he lives in every crevice, every corner of that world.


End file.
